


The Formula For Drowning

by endeofblood



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Black Romance, M/M, One Shot, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:57:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endeofblood/pseuds/endeofblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is that same sickly shade of anxious and disjointed salt water flavor, strung together like a broken disc that can’t quite skip past this one momentary flashflood of the ocean you built inside yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Formula For Drowning

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a tumblr fanart I saw, and written for the lovely Tawnyport. Name credit goes to tumblr user thescyfychannel!

His cape fits haphazardly, the fabric draping down the harsh angles of your bones from the peaks of your shoulders, to where you have purple handfuls knotted in your hands with the rest left to pool on the floor you’ve resigned yourself to. It envelops you, leaving a dizzying reminder of his scent that you can already feel beginning to cling to the surface of your skin. Or maybe that was just an illusion too, the imagined magnification of what he smelled like and your make believe that it would linger in the same way it used to after long days at his hive. 

Giving an unhappy little noise, more of a hiccup of air than a sob, you press the soles of your shoes against the ground in an attempt to steady yourself. Your shoulders draw in, hunched over, curling inward defensively as you let go of the cape with one hand in favor of spinning the ring set in the shape of a spade around your finger again and again in nervous, fidgeting movements. Everything is that same sickly shade of anxious and disjointed salt water flavor, strung together like a broken disc that can’t quite skip past this one momentary flashflood of the ocean you built inside yourself; you’ve sunk to the pit of your stomach, and now you’re drowning.

You look to the ceiling as if the formula for rationalizing your grief was set there, providing what you need to transcribe this feeling into a set of numbers, a string of code, a tangible problem that you could whittle away at before being provided with a singular solution if you were just given the time to chip away at what was plaguing you. The ceiling is blank. Your fingers move, rising to the clasp of the cape and fixing it properly as you’d seen him do a hundred dozen times before- even if it takes you a few additional moments to coordinate them properly.   
And you cry.   
It’s sudden and violent, a few more pockets of air rising to rack your shoulders quickly turning into runny, messy sobs, with the backs of your hands playing as damage control to try and stem the flow of tears. Eventually- and you aren’t sure when, exactly- you knock your glasses off and don’t bother picking them up again. Instead, you duck your head, cover yourself wholly with his cape, and cry yourself into a shaking mess on the floor.

Your name is Sollux Captor, and your kismesis is dead.


End file.
